


Customer Service

by AwashSquid



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 06:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11285421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwashSquid/pseuds/AwashSquid
Summary: Michiru absolutely hated her job.





	Customer Service

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off of a post by @sittingoverheredreaming on Tumblr about an AU where the Senshi all work at a bookstore. Having not worked at one myself, some details may be incorrect. Short and sweet.

“Where’s the Cooking section?!”

Michiru’s eyes never so much as glanced away from her monitor. “To the left, under the large sign that reads ‘Cooking,’ assuming of course, that you can in fact read and are not looking for picture books, which are located in the Children’s section at the back of the store.”

“Well! This kind of rudeness is unacceptable! I will be speaking to your manager!”

Sighing and resigning herself to some shallow attempt to smooth over the situation, Michiru tore her eyes away from her online cart…only to see the affronted customer already stomping away, presumably hunting down someone to take out her wrath on. The odds were somewhat positive that the first manager in sight would be one that would just fire her already, but fate was not to be so kind. The middle-aged woman, now shaking her wicker purse for emphasis and pointing vigorously towards the Information Desk, had found Setsuna and mistaken her for a store manager (an event that happened almost daily, and that Setsuna had given up on correcting months ago). The green-haired woman took in the customer’s shouting and frothing without so much as a blink, said something in return, and then began to walk in Michiru’s direction.

With a few choice keystrokes, her window was closed, and the store’s Help Directory was back on her screen, as per store policy. “Michiru,” Setsuna greeted, warmer than she probably should have given the circumstances, “I find that, once again, I must appear as though I am reprimanding you to satisfy a customer. Pray tell, what exactly was the problem with this one?”

A small hair toss accompanied her reply: “Truly, I cannot help it if the woman is incapable of reading our signs, despite their significant size and user-friendly font choice.” The derision in her voice was palpable, and she began to examine her cuticles, wondering if she should get another classic French manicure at her appointment later, or perhaps something a little more risqué—

A hand with maroon nails covered her own, and Michiru delicately raised her eyes, feeling scolded in a way she had not felt since she was a very young child. “Michiru, I understand why you took this job.” Setsuna released her hand, knowing that she now held the younger woman’s attention. “I also understand that your parents are capable of buying this entire chain if they so pleased,” she noted with a rueful smile. It disappeared as she finished, “But, if you continue to insult the customers directly, I can’t keep covering for you, and you will be fired.”

Michiru nodded in understanding, and Setsuna, appeased, left to continue putting together the newest display table. Their encounter felt as though it had been hours long, but her computer’s clock swore that it had been less than two minutes, time always seeming to stand still or speed up around Setsuna depending on the woman’s mood.

Yaten chose this moment to return from their coffee break. “Did I miss anything good?” they asked, settling into their seat, still sipping whatever godforsaken sugar bomb was promoted this month at the café.

“Nothing except the immeasurably slow crawl of time until I may take my leave, along with the ever-surprising lack of comprehension of the average consumer,” Michiru replied dryly, watching a snickering band of teenagers take several Holy Books into the “Fiction” section, a steaming Rei not far behind.

“So, the usual then,” they chuckled, cracking their knuckles. A customer approached and, after a moment’s consideration, selected Yaten, the much less intimidating option, to inquire as to if their store rented books, and if not, if they would be considering it.

 _Only one hour, seventeen minutes, and thirty-two seconds,_ Michiru thought to herself, listening to Yaten explain the concept of a library to the man, who insisted that the library wouldn’t have every book, so a rental system should be considered. “I will personally put that suggestion in to my manager, sir,” Yaten retorted, the sarcasm completely missed on the customer, who walked away seemingly pleased with his invention.

–

One hour, sixteen minutes, and fifty-four seconds later, Michiru clocked out and plucked her purse from its resting place below the desk, unzipping it and searching for her keys. “Excuse me,” she heard a voice inquire.

Retrieving her sunglasses from their case, the reply came without her looking up to directly address the person on the other side of the desk. “I am actually finished for the evening, so if you could direct your question to my associate, please,” Michiru replied in a tone that made it very clear that the “please” was not so much of a request as a command. She was loosely debating just never coming back to work as her hand closed around her familiar, smooth keyring, and she raised her eyes to examine the customer, who was now babbling nervously under Yaten’s bored expression.

“Sorry! I’m, uh, it’s my first night, and I’m not sure where to go. Uh, I’m going to be working with the kids, but there’s no one in the Children’s section right now, so I’m pretty confused,” she rambled, running her hand through her short, sandy hair.

Michiru blinked. She had seen all manner of customers in her last week, but never one quite so attractive. The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile that was half sincere, half predatory, and in one deft motion, Michiru removed her sunglasses, placed her keys back into her purse, and stood up. “Allow me to assist you, Miss…”

“Haruka,” the blonde replied, pointing to the nametag that Michiru had failed to notice. She felt a slight blush rise, but fought it down and replaced it with a smile that was a little too wide to be fake.

Perhaps this job could have its perks after all.


End file.
